


Grip

by sootonthecarpet



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, Bruises, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:19:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootonthecarpet/pseuds/sootonthecarpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After accidentally bruising Watson during their first encounter, Sherlock Holmes is trying to be a considerate and gentle lover.</p><p>Watson is starting to grow annoyed with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elesteria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elesteria/gifts).



> I was talking with elesteria about bruises and kinks related to bruises, and then later I remembered that line in BERY about Holmes having unusually strong fingers, and then this sort of... happened?

It was all something of a blur to Holmes, really. Holmes had kissed Watson in a very neutral sort of way, and Watson, rather than recoiling in annoyance or confusion, had—as Holmes had expected—began kissing him in a much more intimate manner. This went on for long enough that he had suggested they take it off of the sofa, and involve more parts of their bodies. Watson was definitely interested, which is how they wound up in bed. 

To Holmes’s distinct annoyance, his memory of the rest of the encounter was all rather scattered. He had a memory of most of the events, but they weren’t quite in the right order at first, and then once they had finally become linear, they were all fuzzy around the edges. This was probably because he was slightly overwhelmed by how great it was; apparently all the ladies (and men) that Watson had slept with on various continents had given him a lot of practice. He hardly remembered that he had clutched at Watson’s sides and shoulders. Until the next morning, that is. Needing to get some dignity back after being very thoroughly and systematically taken apart and reassembled by the voice, hands, mouth, and cock of somebody he was very much in love with, he had slept on his side with Watson’s back against the curve of his body. As such, Holmes awoke with a shoulder very near to his face in a moderate amount of sunlight. He was gazing at it fondly when he noticed a set of five lurid marks in an almost black shade of dark purple, red clinging around the edges. They were in exactly the place his fingers had been. He made a sort of muffled distressed noise. He had wanted to sleep with Watson, not damage him…! 

It was here that Watson woke up and kissed Holmes. Holmes was immensely susceptible to Watson’s skill at such matters, and somehow he wound up face down on the mattress and being taken slowly and thoroughly while Watson leaned over him and sucked reddish marks into the back of his shoulders and the nape of his neck. 

So he forgot to apologize to Watson about the bruises.

 

Watson had not expected the initial kiss, and was fairly certain that his reaction was a risky one. But in the past he had found it was generally worth it to kiss people who seemed to be interested in him, and this case was not an exception. He knew it had been a good idea when Holmes kissed back, and particularly when Holmes began to make little sounds and cling to his jacket. 

He had grinned smugly when the breathless detective in his lap had broken their kiss to growl, “You’re wasting time you should be spending fucking me.” Really, it was a proposition he couldn’t pass up. They relocated as quickly as possible. Impatiently, they discarded most of their clothing by the door, although Holmes wound up still in an open shirt and one sock, and Watson in both his socks and a tie. Rather than letting Holmes drag them both onto the bed, he pushed Holmes until the man was sitting on the edge of the bed, and then dropped to his knees in front of him.

Watson frowned critically at a worryingly prominent hip-bone, then sucked on it gently. Holmes shivered a little, then let out a shaky breath when Watson moved to nip at his inner thigh.

Holmes spread his legs apart, leaning back on his hands and looking down at Watson with something between expectation and helpless desire. Watson smirked smugly and sucked at the tip of Holmes’s cock. Holmes gasped sharply. “Oh,” he said very quietly, eyes closing.

Watson took as much of Holmes into his mouth as he could fit comfortably. He drew back slowly, sucking hard. Holmes moaned deeply, at which Watson began to bob his head at a fairly regular pace. After a few minutes, Holmes tugged gently at Watson’s hair. “I was rather hoping that you were going to fuck me, Watson,” he managed breathlessly. “That is what I asked you for, isn’t it?”

Watson pulled off of him slowly and looked up at him, smirking. 

There was a brief, annoying hunt for something slippery, which Holmes brought to a close by producing some Vaseline he typically used to prevent chapped lips. Watson took it from him and nudged Holmes, encouraging him to lie back on the bed. He knelt between Holmes’s spread legs and began to prepare him carefully. He committed the sounds that Holmes was making—mostly moans and shuddering sighs, with a few tiny whimpers—to memory. 

“You can do it now,” Holmes said, looking at Watson with much more pleading than was in the tone of his voice. 

“Are you quite sure you’re ready?” Watson questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

Holmes nodded. “I don’t mind a little discomfort,” he said.

Watson shook his head a little. “I don’t want to hurt you. Give it a minute.” He pressed a third finger into Holmes, who groaned.

“I don’t want to give it a minute,” he complained. “I am immensely sexually frustrated, and I’ve finally gotten you in bed with me.” 

“And I’m not going to risk hurting you. If you need a rationalization, I’ll be able to take you again sooner if you’re not damaged.”

Holmes pouted for a few seconds. Watson shifted his fingers in a particular way, and Holmes shuddered.

“Soon, at least, please?” Holmes asked.

Watson nodded.

He was extremely thorough, but stuck to his word—it wasn’t more than a few minutes later that he braced one hand on the bed by Holmes’s shoulder and used the other to align his cock as he pushed in. Both men let out slow groans in almost perfect unison. 

Holmes clutched at Watson when Watson moved, and Watson was immensely pleased when he became rougher and Holmes’s fingertips dug into him. He growled encouragingly and sucked on Holmes’s collarbone and shoulders. He would have loved to move to his throat, but he did not want to be too obvious with the production of love bites when they might any day find themselves with a guest, often before Holmes had bothered to put on a shirt with a collar of any notable height. He did lick Holmes’s throat, and kiss it carefully. Holmes shuddered, gripping Watson hard.

Watson, who prided himself on the ability to multitask, slicked Holmes’s cock with Vaseline without showing his pace. He then lowered himself to his elbows, lying so that the flat of his stomach was pressed to Holmes’s, catching his cock between them both. Holmes’s fingers were definitely leaving marks—that thought pushed Watson closer, and he changed his pace, trying to find the sort of movement that suited Holmes the best. Holmes wrapped his legs around Watson, pinning him there—as if Watson had any intention to leave. Watson managed to get Holmes to come first, although he himself only lasted a few moments after that, with the way Holmes’s fingers were pressing into his back.

There were a few moments of breathless silence. They separated, kissed tenderly, and repositioned themselves to something more comfortable.

Watson rather liked being in Holmes’s arms like this. It was something he had often hoped for.

 

Waking up was nice, as well. Holmes was warm, and despite the continued presence of a few stray articles of clothing, the contact was immensely intimate. Watson could just feel the tiny aches from his bruises, and hoped that he’d get a chance to look at them soon. He lay there quietly for a little, then turned to fit his mouth against Holmes’s. Holmes made a little sound and put a hand in Watson’s hair. Their mouths opened; the kiss grew deeper.

“Let’s get that shirt off you, love,” Watson whispered when they parted. Holmes sat up, Watson sitting as well to kiss Holmes’s neck as he slid the garment from Holmes’s shoulders. He slid his hand down Holmes’s leg to his calf, unfastening the suspender and removing it and the single sock. He kissed down Holmes’s chest, smiling a little when Holmes reached under his throat to undo the rather wrinkled tie that remained there. He sucked on Holmes’s stomach until a mark began to become visible, then moved back up to eye level and pressed his hips against Holmes’s, rolling them lazily. “Care to roll over for me?” he asked. 

Holmes considered, then nodded.

Watson was gentler this time, as they were now a great deal less desperate for it thanks to having finally gotten over themselves and actually hopped into bed. Holmes seemed to enjoy the pace, and Watson was very pleased to find that the back of Holmes’s neck was nearly as sensitive as the front of it. 

They had a late breakfast, and spent the rest of the day as they usually would, although with an immensely pleasant sense of a shared secret, particularly for Watson, who had his concealed bruises to dwell upon.


	2. Chapter 2

Watson slept in his own room that night, and took the opportunity to get a good look at his bruises. He was very much looking forward to acquiring more, so when the evening after that, when they shared a bed again, he was rather disappointed to note that Holmes clutched at the bed rather than his shoulders. Watson dismissed it as ill luck until a week or so later, when his bruises were fading and he had not acquired even a single bruise more. He prodded at them gently, then pressed hard, trying to cause the marks to deepen again, but it wasn’t quite the same. Despite his best efforts, the bruises healed completely after a while. 

No new ones took their place.

“You’re preoccupied,” Holmes pointed out after dinner one night.

“Yes,” Watson said. “Specifically preoccupied with the image of you in my bed.”

They hadn’t had time for anything of the sort for a few days due to a case, and they were still in a sort of heated phase because of years of pent-up sexual tension. 

“Do I get to finish my cigarette?” Holmes asked. 

“No,” Watson said. Holmes ground it out and they relocated upstairs.

They had never actually gotten the hang of undressing each other in arousing ways—Holmes appeared to consider it impractical. Watson had been mildly disappointed by this development, because he would have quite liked to carefully peel away layer after layer of Holmes, kissing every bit of newly displayed skin.

Getting that to happen was probably his second priority after ‘more bruises’, in fact. 

They landed naked in the centre of the bed, Watson in Holmes’s lap. He pushed Holmes backwards to lie supine on the mattress. Holmes reached up and pulled Watson down to his level for a kiss that began as something hard and gradually became more passionate and gentle, tongues moving together steadily and unhurriedly. 

Watson sat up, breaking it, and sighed slowly. Holmes stroked his hands down Watson’s chest slowly, eventually landing on his hips. He slid them backwards and a little down, cupping Watson’s arse quite easily, then squeezed gently. Watson shivered, because the gentle digging in of fingertips made him think about how it might feel if Holmes were to grip hard, to bruise him… leaving marks where no one would see them… Watson shook himself a little. 

“Now, it’s my turn to be atop you, isn’t it?” Watson asked, leaning down to suckle bits of Holmes’s jaw and neck. Holmes nodded in confirmation.

Watson slipped off of the bed and located one of several containers of Vaseline that they had now placed in various portions of their bedrooms. He lay down half on top of Holmes, propping himself on one elbow by Holmes’s shoulder. He started to open the container, which was made difficult when Holmes started tongue-kissing him. “Mrph,” he said, which was supposed to be ‘wait’. He got it open anyway and applied a significant quantity to his fingers, then reached behind himself. Holmes broke the kiss and craned his neck up, interested in watching. 

“Ngh,” Watson gasped, eyes closing. Holmes bit down and sucked on the edge of his shoulder, leaving a red mark by the time Watson was quite finished. (“He will not even leave me marks that _looked_ like bruises!” Watson complained mentally.)

He rolled on top of Holmes again and gripped Holmes’s cock with his still rather slippery hand. He pumped him slowly, steadily, coaxing him harder. Holmes took hold of Watson’s cock and returned the favour. Watson groaned quietly. Holmes was eventually fully hard, and Watson sat across his hips and raised himself, holding Holmes steady—pressing down until he was completely filled. 

Holmes sighed slowly.

Watson held himself in the hand which had been used for the application of Vaseline, lacing his fingers through Holmes’s with the other. Holmes closed his eyes as Watson began to move. It was not very long before both men were gasping hoarsely. Watson squeezed himself around Holmes, and Holmes gave a broken moan, hand clenching around Watson’s fingers. Watson leaned forward so that he could kiss Holmes, hoping to distract him from the involuntary motions of his hand (his other hand was fisted in the sheets) and moved a bit rougher, groaning softly. Holmes’s strong fingers felt to be nearly biting into Watson’s flesh, and he stroked himself more rapidly, eyes shut tight. Holmes arched his hips up unsteadily, thrusting into Watson. 

“There,” Watson gasped. He contracted himself around Holmes’s cock again, and Holmes whimpered, spending himself, his fingers clutching Watson’s spasmodically. Watson rode him steadily until Holmes was completely spent, then sat still and stroked himself almost frantically, moaning as he came on Holmes’s abdomen with almost dizzying intensity. 

He flopped down beside Holmes and panted for breath.

“Ah,” Holmes said.

Watson wrapped his arms around Holmes and drew him close.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is PROBABLY the last chapter, but I might wind up writing more or something.
> 
> I mean, bruise porn is always great.

Watson managed to see to it Holmes did not get a clear look at Watson’s hand until the next afternoon, when they were sitting on the sofa. By then, dark bruises encircled the bases of his fingers and fingertip markings were pressed into the back of his hand.

Holmes swallowed and reached for it. “My dear fellow. I should have taken my hand away.”

“I would not have—“ he shivered as Holmes touched one of the injuries. “I would not have permitted it, Holmes…” He closed his eyes. Holmes was pressing gently.

“It is endearing that you would have borne me injuring you, but it was never my intention to damage, and I am very sorry.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he managed.

Holmes stopped prodding him. “I am hurting you,” he said, letting go.

“No, Holmes.”

“You cannot say that you are uninjured.”

“I mean I wanted you to bruise me.”

Holmes blinked.

“It feels arousing in the moment, and following that, it is a physical reminder of the acts which were committed. It’s particularly lovely when _you_ do it—it’s definite proof I had your hands on me, and your hands are gorgeous.”

Holmes glanced at his knuckles and shrugged, then looked back at Watson. “Why would you derive sexual pleasure from being injured?” He asked.

Watson shrugged a little. “Probably has to do with adrenaline or something,” he said.

Holmes resumed his careful prodding of Watson’s bruises. “I don’t think I’ve done any serious damage here,” he said, “Thank god.”

“That feels nice,” Watson pointed out breathily. 

“Oh,” Holmes murmured.

He raised Watson’s hand to his lips and covered a knuckle with his mouth, sucking gently. 

“Aah—” Watson was shivering slightly.

Holmes released Watson’s knuckle, which had managed to turn to an even darker shade, and slipped Watson’s ring finger into his mouth. Watson shuddered. Holmes ran his tongue up the underside of the first segment, pressing hard against the bruise. “Fuck!” Watson gasped unsteadily. Holmes grazed his teeth along the top of the bruise, then simply bit down. Watson’s vision went unfocused. He pressed his free hand to his mouth and leaned back against the sofa, panting.

“Hm?” Holmes inquired.

“Bloody hell,” said Watson by way of explanation. Holmes shifted closer to his side and slipped a hand into Watson’s lap, palming his erection gently. Watson rolled his hips up into Holmes’s hand. Holmes nibbled at Watson’s bruise, drawing short gasping noises. He slipped his other arm around Watson’s waist and pressed his fingers against Watson’s ribs.

Watson closed his eyes as Holmes undid his trousers and drew out his cock, stroking it steadily. “This is the sitting room,” he gasped, little sparks shooting through him as Holmes sucked hard on his bruises. Holmes clenched his hand on Watson’s side, fingertips just beginning to hurt, and Watson moaned. He gave up. “All right,” he said, reaching for Holmes’s trousers.

Holmes pushed his hand away, letting Watson’s finger slip from his mouth so that he could speak. “I really don’t think you’re going to want to cause me physical pleasure when my hand is on your cock, considering that I tend to clench my fingers in response,” he pointed out.

Watson pouted at him and stopped trying to get him undressed. Holmes took Watson’s hand again, this time taking the index finger into his mouth, and Watson shivered. 

Holmes’s touch on him was magnificent. He was caught between teeth and tongue against his existing bruises, fingers digging hard into his side, and the firm, steady hand on his cock. It felt rather like being systematically pulled apart at the seams. 

He hid his face in Holmes’s neck, gasping. He choked out a few more appreciative profanities, then fell into shudders and spasms and breathless moans, Holmes managing to wring from him what certainly felt like every drop of ejaculate he possessed.

(It all landed on his waistcoat. Later, he would spend a good quarter of an hour washing it out.)

He groaned softly as Holmes let go of him.

“Your _hands_ ,” he said quietly, breathlessly. He took one and kissed it. He slipped off the sofa to between Holmes’s legs, getting him half out of his trousers and certainly enough to have access to his by now throbbing erection. He held it and stroked firmly—Holmes cursed. “Put your hands on me,” Watson said quietly. Holmes slipped one hand to the back of Watson’s neck and rested the other on his shoulder. Watson took about a third of Holmes into his mouth, bobbing his head and sucking steadily, stroking the rest of him. Holmes’s grip tightened, digging into Watson far too hard to be anything but damaging. Watson moaned appreciatively. Holmes muttered a long string of profanities, then closed his eyes, panting. Watson sucked a little harder, swirling his tongue over the tip of Holmes’s cock a few times. Holmes made several gentle, quiet ‘ah’ noises, almost stammering, his hips jerking weakly and his legs quivering as his hands clenched as tight as possible.

Watson sat back, pausing a little before swallowing—wanting to memorize Holmes’s taste, as Holmes had not previously had the opportunity to come in Watson’s mouth.

He got up, made a general effort towards fixing their trousers, and perched on Holmes’s lap. Holmes appeared to be in a bit of a daze, so he stroked the man’s hair off of his forehead and kissed his cheekbone lightly. “That was nice,” he remarked conversationally.

“Fffffuck,” Holmes muttered.

“Not right now, surely,” Watson said teasingly.

Holmes nudged him and pouted. “Not what I meant and you know it.”

“Yes, I do,” Watson assured, hugging him tightly for a few seconds.

Holmes smiled.


End file.
